


Binders

by Davechicken



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 18:59:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8412928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: Kylo visits with a gift.





	

Sometimes, he likes to spoil her. Phasma has absolutely no objections, but occasionally his idea of spoiling her involves making her not reciprocate straight off. And that’s just a bit weird, really. Without the ability to touch him in response, she has to focus more on the sensations. 

He’s brought _binders_ to bed. He could use the Force, but he’s clamped durasteel around her wrists, and hitched them to the top of her bunk. She’s in a simple sleeping crop top, and she _had_ been wearing long, black pyjamas below, but those are gone, leaving only her simple, no-nonsense panties. Fresh on for bed, of course, but two minutes into him sneaking in with his damned restraints, they’d already gotten hot and messy.

He’s still dressed, which makes it worse. His mask is off, and the light only allows for views of his profile against the sliver of light beyond. His proud nose, his full lips. The bounce of his hair, the flash of illumination on his eyes. 

He hasn’t spoken, and she doesn’t want to break the spell. 

His hands are still gloved when they trace over her torso, feeling for the knock of her ribs, or coasting over the crop top. Her nipples are sharpened under the attention, and she pulls her lip in to fight the moan. A tiny pinch, and then he’s hefting the swell of her breast, but not giving her the lips, tongue, teeth or fingers she really wants. 

Down, and the glove makes a strange sound against the cotton. His hands are large, and he cups her sex with one palm, the heel pressing down on the mound, but not grinding. He feels outside her lips, pinching them tightly shut and denying her any more attention than the slide of her walls together, and she grunts in dissatisfaction. She can feel the slick juices starting to build, and even though she tries to push up into his grip, a hand pinches hold of her hip and holds her down.

He’s in control today. (For now.)

Glaring up at him, daring him to do more, she pulls at the binders, trying to get free. She _knows_ she can’t, but the defiance is essential.

Through the fabric, his thumb and finger slide her lips against the other, and she closes her eyes to better focus on it. The tease is delicious, but _not enough_ , and her hole clenches behind the grip, grabbing at air and demanding to be filled. She _wants_ , so very much, and it’s _not there_. Even as his hand bumps pressure against her covered clit, she _needs filling._ He has such a deliciously thick cock, but she also adores those long fingers, and that thick tongue. Any would do, but sooner, rather than later.

He pinches again, then pushes the fabric away enough to slide three fingers underneath, teasing at her neatly-trimmed bush with leathered tips. It’s only slightly damp from the enforced closure, and the middle finger that flicks hard at the very join between both sides makes her heel kick the bed.

 _Now, please_. The thought rings loudly in her head, and she doesn’t know if he will hear or not.

The finger keeps the pressure up, just one point of fierce contact, then it fades away to tease through her curls. Again, building up, then fading off. Phasma is going mad, and she rubs against his palm with the little amount of freedom his other hand gives her, pulling her belly up and tensing her thighs to ask for more. When the finger slides between her folds first, it’s heaven and she gasps, but then it’s out and she wants it back again. Over and over the tease, swirling a circle over her clithood, then back away. He never does it so much it’s painful, but enough to make the breaks unwanted. 

Begging will do no good. She understands. If he feels like making her wait, he _will_. (And she will love it.) 

The glove is pulled off, teeth sinking into the slick end of one finger, and she watches him taste her as he bares his hand for the next step. Both hands, and he tosses them to one side.

In again, this time sweeping from the front of her slit, through over the soft parts, over her vaginal entrance and beyond, never going inside of her. Back, and forth. Back, and forth. It’s worse than when she used to not know really what to do, when she’d been young and just touching everywhere in a sloppy mess of wanting… except she _knows_ the slowness here is deliberate. He knows precisely what he’s doing, and the delay is part of the pleasure. 

His hand pushes her damp panties fully aside, and then his hand goes between both labia to pull and tug her wide to the cool air. No touch, and her hole works over the empty space, begging to be touched, stroked, fucked. The sensation of widening is almost unbearable, and when only one finger nudges into her, it’s a delicious insult. She’s much too wide for that to be enough, what with all the heavy petting. She wants _more_ , and when the finger twirls around like she’s spun candy, she growls.

_Kylo. **Please**._

He doesn’t answer, but then there’s two fingers pushed in, and spreading her wider still. The slide against her walls is glorious, and she tries to ride them for the friction, knowing it still won’t be enough. They frig her harder, almost to the point of pain. The press of her body resisting, not because she’s tight but because he’s at her limit, and then there’s the wet sounds of his hand pounding her pussy that she just can’t help but cry out to, loving the almost-not-enough touches, clamping her passage down on his hand, flinching from the hardest sensations.

He slams her hard over and over, then his hand stills and it’s his thumb instead. The fingers dance within her like they’re playing an instrument, but his thumb slicks her dampness up, pushing over her clit like it’s an on-off switch for the lights.

It fucking. Isn’t. It’s very sensitive, and she yelps as he rubs a little too much, but then the pressure is right below, and his fingers spread wide in her, expanding her, the thumb a spark of pleasure that makes her thighs shake with how good it is. 

Fuck. Fuck. **Fuck**.

He lets go of her hip, and she doesn’t even notice. The fingers inside her start banging hard enough to make her breath whuff out, and his other fingers pull her labia open, stroke around where she’s spreading, tease at her clit, and generally just fucking do things they shouldn’t. She can’t keep up with the stimulation, can’t pull away, or push in, and she’s gushing around the fingertips inside of her. They bend, and hit something spongy and perfect, and then there’s bones pressing parts of her to other bones, and Phasma cries out in shock as the first climax hits. She tightens down on him, then tries to pull back as he keeps the slick gestures up, making her head sort of blank until she can shake it and whisper: “No… please…”

He doesn’t just leave up, though, and she’s grateful. The pressure ebbs, the rubbing slows, and the fingers barely move inside of her. Her belly feels tired from the climax, and she watches his face with fondness. 

“Better?” he asks.  


“Getting there,” she agrees. “But I can’t return the favour.”  


Kylo grins, and one of his fingers strokes lower. “Kind of the point.”

If he thinks he’s… oh. The nudge to her ass sends a weird shock through her, and then there’s a subtle push against her hole, and she wonders if he’s got the co-ordination to play with both entrances at once. 

She’s going to find out. 


End file.
